The dark volhv waved back at me and shouted, “Showtime!”

Alina sighed next to him. “What are you so happy about? We’re going to get killed.”

The two of them started toward the gates.

“It’s exciting,” Roman said. “Look at all of those shapeshifters and vampires. It’s a historic moment and the Pack will owe us.”

“How is it that you have no common sense? Were they all out when you were born?”

Roman indicated his face. “I don’t need common sense. I have a double helping of charm.”

“You mean a double helping of bullshit . . .”

They passed through the gates under us and Derek and two other shapeshifters barred them, lifting the enormous beam in place. The boy wonder, bald and pale, had decided that he’d had enough rest. I didn’t have the energy to fight with him about it.

Roman and the witch stopped about fifty feet from the gate. A single vampire emerged from the undead horde and ran over to them. Roman spoke to it. He would be listing our conditions: we would meet two Masters of the Dead in front of the gates and discuss the murder of Mulradin. Roman and the witch would act as impartial witnesses. And if Hugh got anywhere within fifty feet of that meeting, all negotiations would cease.

The vampire returned. The witch raised her head and spread her arms. A dark green spark pulsed from her and split into a thousand narrow ribbons of green. They shot from her, falling into the snow. Steam rose as the snow melted and the green burrowed into the ground, forming a perfect ring about fifty feet in diameter. Thin green stalks sprouted from the exposed ground and stretched upward, turning into knee-high thorns.

We had our meeting.

• • •

I WALKED OUT into the snowy field next to Jim. The gates of the Keep stood closed behind us. On the wall, Andrea stood with a power crossbow. She’d brought a sniper rifle in case the magic dropped.

The sea of vampires parted and Ghastek walked out, tall, slender, wearing a long military-style white jacket and white pants, strategically broken by small irregular splotches of brown. White boots and a helmet in the same pattern completed the outfit. Apparently he intended to bury himself in the snow and snipe at us from his cover. A woman followed him. She wore an identical uniform and the helmet hid her hair, but I’d know Rowena anywhere. She was in debt to the witches and she had been secretly supplying me with vampire blood. She didn’t know what I did with it, but if she ever found out, her helmet would fly right off her head because her hair would stand on end.

“What the hell are they wearing?” Jim murmured next to me.

“They’re playing soldier. It probably cost them an arm and a leg.”

“Still might,” Jim offered.